All: Hear our prayer, O Lord.

A: I’m empty, O God, as empty as the heart of the widow walking next to the coffin of her only son. Do remember her, Jesus? No options? No hope? You healed her son. Please raise my heart.

All: Hear his prayer, O Lord.

B: I’m full, O God, thrilled with the adventure of a new week, a new morning. Yesterday was wonderful, the community, the worship. Let me remember the awareness of your presence all week long.

All: Hear her prayer, O Lord. And bring them together.

C: We are certain, O God, of the direction you are taking our family. We know that it will be hard, that love that gives up stuff and family is confusing to many, confusing to us. But we know that you are here and we know that you will be there. And we are grateful.

All: Hear their prayer, O Lord.

D: I’m so confused, O Lord, and then I hear that family and I am even more confused. How can they be certain of hearing you? How can I be certain of you hearing me? How can they pick up and leave and say that it’s you? I’d take just a whisper. Just an echo. Just a word.

All: Hear his prayer, O Lord.

C: And answer, please.

E: I am grieving. I admit it, O God. I know that you are with me. I know that. But he isn’t, not anymore. Not til forever. And I am trusting, that I am. But I am alone.

All: Hear her prayer, O Lord.

Leader: We are here, God, as different as apples and transmissions. Our fullness and emptiness grate on each other. So grant us your peace. No other will do.

When your little kid wanders off and you find him twenty minutes later, you get really mad at him. “Ben, I’ve told you a ton of times to never to wander off like that!” But what you really mean is, “Ben, I love you so much and am so glad that you are not lost!” The heat of emotions gets us every time. Recently, we have tended to get angry at those who have done things to harm themselves and us, needlessly.

So one thing we’ve been pondering – and seeking to apply – is that it’s great to first go to God with our anger and frustration. After then we can go to others.

Are we weak and heavy laden, cumbered with a load of care?
Precious Savior, still our refuge, take it to the Lord in prayer.
Do your friends despise, forsake you? Take it to the Lord in prayer!
In His arms He’ll take and shield you; you will find a solace there.

That is from an old hymn, written in 1855: What a Friend we have in Jesus.

Yes, we don’t talk like that anymore, but just as you would read Shakespeare, look beyond the language to see the depth of truth and meaning there.

This is such a simple truth, but it’s something that I have to keep remembering, re-learning and applying again – over and over. Maybe a way to expand our thinking on this is to think of new ways that we can do this today. Share your idea in the comments to help all of us move forward in this. Or share a story of how you did this, to encourage the rest of us. Thank you!

(Paul Merrill writes here every First Friday)

I don’t think I’ve talked to you about what I think it means to pray for someone, but that story is a perfect illustration.

I have this idea that “praying for” can mean “praying about” or “praying with” someone. So when someone says, “pray for me” they might mean “pray about this situation that I’m in.”  Or they might mean “pray with me and ask God to fix this because if we get enough people asking him, he’s bound to pay attention.”

However, I’ve got this idea that “praying for” might  mean “Would you talk to God because I can’t right now.”

It’s like, while I was holding my hand on the red line, I couldn’t make a call. But that didn’t mean that I was doing something wrong, it meant that I was engaged.

I said to Nancy late last week, “I’m looking forward to being able to pray again.” I wasn’t ignoring God. I was as aware of his presence and peace as I have ever been. But I didn’t have time for conversation. I was holding my hand on a red line to stop the bleeding. I had friends who were calling 911.

“My heart has heard you say, ‘Come and talk with me.’ And my heart responds, “Lord, I am coming.’ ” (Psalm 20:7)

That’s a great way to start a day. Or end a day.

David, the guy who wrote those words, preceded those thoughts by saying, “Hear me as I pray, O Lord. Be merciful and answer me!” So God did respond by asking David to sit down and talk. Then in the talking with God, David would get his answers.

How often are we willing to sit down and talk with God? Talk. Listen. (Not just talk.)

A great time to do that might be on your drive (or train ride) to work. Or on the plane to that next conference, when you just don’t feel like talking to the person next to you. God will listen, without complaining. He usually doesn’t talk till you are ready to listen to Him. That’s not always true. Sometimes He shouts at us when we won’t listen any other way. Often He will talk through events in our lives. The “wake up!” variety.

Sometimes we are in a place where God seems silent. It’s helpful to zip down to the end of that Psalm to see how David responded to that situation: “Wait patiently for the Lord. Be brave and courageous. Yes, wait patiently for the Lord.”

Being patient can be really hard. Maybe it’s one of the hardest things we will face. But David urges us to be brave in the face of the unknown. Maybe you’re waiting on a job. Waiting on your daughter to choose her life direction, on trying for a baby or finding a life partner. Or waiting to see how you can make ends meet this month. Be brave. Wait. And talk to God. And listen.

At times when by every right, everything emotionally should be cascading in, there can be peace. Not a denial, but an acknowledgment that yes, indeed, there is cancer, but God has a clue. Not a denial but an acknowledgment that yes, that casket holds the body of an infant daughter, but God is present.

Ah, but the peace doesn’t come because suddenly everything makes sense: “If I get cancer, then other people will understand that life is important and so my life, however short, will accomplish something.”

That kind of explaining would allow us to arrive at peace as a some rationalization of suffering. And I’m not sure that’s what Paul means when he writes,

Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. (Philippians 4:6-7)

I know. We want a recipe. We want to know that we will understand why things are the way they are. And in these two sentences there is no promise of understanding. There is no promise that things will work out fine.

Instead, Paul says that our hearts and our minds, those things that churn and process and spin and struggle in the middle of pain and chaos and ambiguity and inadequacy, will be guarded.

I suppose that part of the guarding comes from inviting someone else into the discussion. Knowing that someone who is capable of acting on our behalf is aware of the problem gives peace. But sometimes, nonsensical peace, incomprehensible peace, is an evidence of God, offered to rational minds in danger of spinning out of control. But, says Paul, you gotta ask.

May the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be pleasing in your sight,  O LORD, my Rock and my Redeemer.

It’s from Psalm 19. a prayer that David wrote out. I sent it to someone who was speaking somewhere yesterday. Then I thought, “I need to keep that in mind.”

So I tried.

It was challenging. There were moments in the day that went crazy. Several people asking questions, each before the previous question was answered or problem was solved. There were moments when I started to feel a bit cranky, a bit defensive. There were moments when I started wondering about the projects I wasn’t getting done, or the value of the ones I was working on. There was a stretch where nothing was working on one of the extra projects that had been added to my day.

But I kept coming back to that sentence, saying it out loud, considering it in my heart.

• Sometimes, I was looking for affirmation from God, the way I show a boss how I’m doing a project: “Would you let me know if this is going the way you want?”
• Sometimes, I was wanting to get thoughts and words because, following a short sleep the previous night, my capacity to meditate (to reflect and ponder and consider and chew) was negligible.
• Sometimes, I was making an offering, kind of like writing a poem or a post and giving it with a “here’s what I’m thinking. I hope you like it.”

As I neared the end of the day, with only a bit more writing and teaching to do, I realized that I had spent much time in conscious conversation with God.

I think the prayer was answered.

—

For more on reflective scripture reading and prayer, see “the heart of lectio divina.“

I’d love to give me that, too.

You are probably better than I am at stopping. Me? When I sit down to be still, it allows me to remember the things that aren’t done. It allows me to think about what I could be doing with this time. It allows me to fill the time with chatter. Or with clutter. Or with activity.

I wonder if part of the problem with the way I try to be still. I try to concentrate. I try to be quiet. I try to stop, so that maybe I can hear God and hear myself.

Here’s what’s interesting, however. When I decide to spend time with Nancy, I don’t talk about the need to be still.  I don’t berate myself for my incapacity for not being with her. I don’t spend time not with her thinking I should be with her.

I go find her.

If I am having a hard time concentrating, I tell her. (And when I do, it usually comes as no surprise to her.) And I may ask her to help me remember something. And I may say, “can we walk and talk?” And I may say, “I’ll be back in 5 minutes.”

So here’s what I’m thinking. I’m thinking that maybe I should stop worrying so much about emptying my head and start working more on listening to and for Jesus. In the words of other people. In the words written for us by John and Matthew and others.

Maybe if I thought more about conversation with Him and less about being silent first, just like Nancy does, He would help with both.

Happy weekend, friends.

—

Related post: A question of stopping

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Sometimes, when we are out for supper, we probably look like the couples who never talk. We eat. We listen. We look sideways at the people who are talking loudly at adjacent tables. We feel no need to perform.

Sometimes, however, we do talk in front of other people so they can hear us talk, so they know how we interact. There have been times when we’ve been with our kids that we have made sure that we have talked and laughed and even kissed. It hasn’t been made up, it’s not pretend. It’s the public version of a deep private relationship, with an awareness that there is an audience and an awareness that the audience shapes the conversation and, perhaps more importantly, is shaped by the conversation.

Jesus is standing outside the tomb where Lazarus’ body is. He looked up and said,

“Father, I thank you that you have heard me. I knew that you always hear me, but I said this for the benefit of the people standing here, that they may believe that you sent me.”

Jesus was, for the people listening, establishing that there was a relationship. He acknowledges that they talk all the time. He wants everyone to be sure that what is going to follow, the emergence of Lazarus, is clearly rooted in the conversational relationship he has with his father. It can’t be his own power. It can’t be a coincidence. It needs to be that Jesus made a seemingly heretical claim, and instead of being struck by lightening, Lazarus is struck by life.

Maybe like Jesus,  just as I  “public talk” with Nancy, I need to “public talk” with God.

Maybe life would strike twice.

If I could sit with you, you would ask me how you know for sure. Because, you would say, all the time you have thoughts that you think could be God talking, but you want to be sure they aren’t wishful thinking. Especially when those thoughts are telling you how stupid you are. Especially when those thoughts are too convenient and fun.

Then I would tell you about a shepherd, one that never calls sheep stupid.

Think about a shepherd who spends time around his sheep, talking enough that they know his voice enough to recognize it. They have heard that voice talking to the sheep around them. They have heard that voice talking to assistant shepherds. They have heard that voice talking to them, calling them by name.

How would a sheep be confident about the voice of the shepherd? By knowing that there are strangers who wander by. By knowing that there are hired hands who don’t really care. By knowing that it is important to listen. By spending as much time listening to that voice as possible, listening for tone of voice, for topics, for style of talking, for consistent concern with sheep welfare.

Then I would ask how much time you and I spend actually listening, reading letters, reading stories, being open to hear. We may not hear much, but we will hear more clearly than if we never listen.

I constantly seem to forget how important and real prayer is. A few months back, I wrote about a friend who was facing foreclosure because he had not received a paycheck in over a year. I prayed with him for several months. God brought a job! Another friend had been looking for a job for a long time. I prayed with him. He has a job! A third friend – the same.

My prayers are certainly not amazing or special. But God is. He must realize that my trust in Him needs some bolstering right now, so He is clearly answering some of these requests.

I’m asking God to provide a “yes” for another friend who is looking for a job. Heather and I haven’t received an answer to those prayers yet. (Maybe we have received an answer – and it’s “no” – but I still want to keep praying.) Paul reminds me in Romans 12 verse 12 to “Be patient in trouble, and always be prayerful.” The being patient part is hard.

God simply wants us to talk to Him. And a great thing is that He doesn’t mind if all we do is talk about ourselves. I’ve read books and heard sermons about how our prayers need to follow formulas. I don’t think God uses many formulas. He just does things like an artist – effortlessly. He is like a good father who loves hearing what His kids did that day. (What good father would tell his kid, “But you didn’t ask me the right way or in the right order!”) He also doesn’t mind hearing us cry about our problems. As Jon mentioned, David did a lot of crying to God in the Psalms.

So be honest with God. Your earthly father may have rejected you. God won’t.